


Still Something Left to Save

by tehhumi



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M, War of Wrath, warning for discussion of suicide and mercy killing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28942527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tehhumi/pseuds/tehhumi
Summary: A messenger from the hosts of the Valar speaks with the Sons of Feanor regarding the Silmarils - as well as the horrifying decisions they've made since his death.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo, Maedhros | Maitimo & Maglor | Makalaurë
Comments: 1
Kudos: 28





	Still Something Left to Save

Maedhros had sent the letter two days ago. Two days of agonizing waiting while the whole camp held its breath.

Maglor still acted like the Valar might have mercy, and return the Silmarils in exchange for repentance. Maedhros knew better though, and was reviewing his weapons and armor. The Valar would refuse the plea, as they had wished to refuse Feanor’s claim when he had not yet harmed any - if indeed they bothered to answer at all.

So a single rider approaching under a flag of truce was not surprising. Maglor claimed it was a hopeful sign, that the hosts of the Valar might truly wish to negotiate. Maedhros was of the opinion that the Valar had no faith in the house of Feanor at all, and believed them so low as to murder anyone not conspicuously nonthreatening.

The messenger was ushered past the sentries to the tent Maedhros and Maglor used as an improvised command room. He was wearing a helmet that blocked his face. The voice that called out in greeting was oddly familiar, as was the glint of his eyes, but Maedhros couldn’t place it.

“What news do you bring from the Hosts of the West?” Maedhros asked.

“Morgoth has fallen. Lords Tulkas and Orome have bound him in chains and shall throw him into the darkness beyond the world, from where there is no return.”

“And what of the letter we sent to Lord Eonwe?”

“The Silmarils shall return to Valinor where they were created. You may go as well if you wish, and plead your right to them in the Ring of Doom.”

_Then Maglor desired indeed to submit, for his heart was sorrowful, and he said: ‘The oath says not that we may not bide our time, and it may be that in Valinor all shall be forgiven and forgot, and we shall come into our own in peace.’  
_

_But Maedhros answered that if they returned to Aman but the favour of the Valar were withheld from them, then their oath would still remain, but its fulfilment be beyond all hope; and he said: ‘Who can tell to what dreadful doom we shall come, if we disobey the Powers in their own land, or purpose ever to bring war again into their holy realm?’_

_Yet Maglor still held back, saying: 'If Manwë and Varda themselves deny the fulfilment of an oath to which we named them in witness, is it not made void?’_

_And Maedhros answered: 'But how shall our voices reach to Ilúvatar beyond the Circles of the World? And by Ilúvatar we swore in our madness, and called the Everlasting Darkness upon us, if we kept not our word. Who shall release us?_

_“If none can release us,’ said Maglor, 'then indeed the Everlasting Darkness shall be our lot, whether we keep our oath or break it; but less evil shall we do in the breaking.’_

The messenger burst out, “Do you care so little for the life of your kin? You are arguing where and who to kill if your demands are not met; can you not simply seek peace?”

Maedhros rounded on him. “What right do you have to speak such to us? What can you possibly know of our oath, and the cost of defying it?”

“I know as much as you told me, in Himring when you knew the foolishness of marching north unprepared but still felt the call. Perhaps you’ve forgotten though, in the years since.” The messenger took off his helmet.

Maedhros was stuck speechless.

Maglor was not. “Fingon? You’ve been reborn? I thought we were supposed to abide long years in Mandos and yearn for our bodies.”

“It’s been a century, isn’t that long enough?”

“I suppose so. Is my father back yet?”

“No. The dead cannot leave until we are repentant, and that will be a long time for him.”

“Is _your_ father back?”

“Yes, and ruling Tirion while Uncle Finarfin fights here. Before you ask, Grandpa is still in Mandos, as are all your brothers. I didn’t get a complete list; I was only in Valinor for long enough to arrange passage on the next ship leaving.”

“Why?” Maedhros whispered hoarsely. “Why would you give up on a chance for peace after centuries of war and death?”

“I could hardly sit by and do nothing when Morgoth was still running rampant! Besides, I wanted to see you in person.”

“You did?”

“Yes. After the tales I heard from Doriath and Sirion, I wanted to see if there was anything left to save of the man I fell in love with.”

Maglor said, “I’ll give you two privacy. I will return in an hour, and in the meantime will inform the army that we are in council over our next course of action.”

“There’s no need for that. After your brother’s speech earlier, I really don’t have much left to say to him.”

“No?” Maedhros asked. “As steadfast as you are renowned to be, you can exchange your love for hate in an instant?”

“I don’t know if I hate you. But I can’t love you, not when you’re drenched in blood and only wading deeper.”

“You accuse me of forgetting what we talked about in Himring, its you who are ignoring it. Or did you never listen in the first place? Each day, each hour, each _breath_ is an effort, each moment that the Oath is unfulfilled worse than the last. A century ago I was carrying a stone; now it is a boulder.”

“So why do you not set the boulder aside? Why not surrender to the Valar, or found a new kingdom in the East, or ask me to ride off with you and live far away from all oaths and kings and fathers?”

“If I cast the Oath aside it would not be gone, merely underfoot waiting to reach up and pull my down with it rather than crushing me.”

“Would that not be better?”

“Until it reached up and choked me, and I moved once again according to its string. The Oath will be there waiting for me wherever I go for the rest of my life, unless I can fulfill it.”

“Then let it wait. Better to have peace for a few decades, in which time you may understand how to evade your Doom.”

“If you refuse to accept that certain things cannot be changed, I don’t have any answers that will satisfy you.”

“And if you refuse to see any path forward but over the bodies of innocents, I may as well be shouting at the wind.”

“I begged you once to kill me and you refused. If you cannot stomach having released me onto the world, that is your problem, but I will not be crushed by your guilt as well as my own.”

“I rescued you because I loved you. What you have done is horrific, but it was not fated from that moment. I take no part in your guilt, but as a friend would aid you towards repentance.”

“There is no penance that could make up for what I have done, and even if there were I would refuse to take it. It is better to live scorned but free than to bow and scrape in desperate hope a jailer will be amused enough to grant a moment of relief.”

“The Valar are not Morgoth, and have no interest in cruelty.”

“And if you’re wrong? Or if they are merciful, but someone decides I’m not being appropriately punished, what then? Once I surrender, I’m sure I won’t be allowed so much as a belt knife for eating. There will be escape from the inside, whether you call it captivity or repentance. Will you come to my heroic rescue once again, or will you let vengeance and justice be played out upon me?”

Fingon looked at him steadily. “If you are imprisoned I will some to your aid, if only to offer the arrow you begged for last time. I don’t think an eagle will help you escape the Valar’s own sentence though.”

“So if I surrender I am trapped between captivity or death, until at last I weary of holding back the Oath and am struck down for my arrogance at believing a son has a right to his father’s work. Whereas if I pursue the Silmarils now, I may be struck down or I may escape, but in either case I have at least chosen the hour and the manner of my fate. You’re making a very persuasive argument.”

“If all you care about is your own skin, and no thought at all for the lives ended beneath your sword if you attack, then perhaps what you have said is accurate. But I had thought that you were kinder than that once; perhaps I am mistaken and you care no more for elven lives than an orc would.”

Maedhros recoiled as if struck.

Maglor jumped into the conversation before his brother could find the words that would skewer Fingon’s weakness as thoroughly as his own had been. “You both speak as if there are only two options. We don’t have to choose between surrender and attack.”

“Oh?” Maedhros said,”What other way is there? Fingon made it very clear that fighting is for orcs and crawling back to the Valar is for good little elves.”

“I never said-”

Maglor interrupted Fingon before the two of them could get into it again. “There are men and dwarves in this world as well as orcs and elves, whatever we might have thought when we left Valinor.”

“Dwarves and men there may be, but little help it does us. We don’t get to change our nature like your precious peredhel princes, nor would I want to.”

“We don’t have to. I’m merely saying, we don’‘t have to choose between attack and surrender. We can retreat, regroup for another angle.”

“I am right here, as a messenger of the Valar, and can’t honestly report that you two are going in peace if you merely are waiting until you’re strong enough to storm Taniquetil.”

Maedhros drummed his fingers on his sword hilt. “We don’t have to let you go. You claim being prisoner of a kind master is a good fate; now would be your chance to prove it.”

“Must the two of you be so literal? We retreat physically, but regroup spiritually for another metaphorical angle of attack.”

“You’re speaking in poetry when we need tactics.”

“Fine.” Maglor began ticking points of on his fingers. “We retreat physically by moving our forces away from the land that’s collapsing beneath our feet. Everyone is going east, but if we angle north-east, perhaps across the Grey Mountains, we should be able to establish a fortress without being bothered. We regroup spiritually by announcing to our soldiers that we’re not going to attack civilians again. We can spend a decade or two building our new home, farming and crafting and hunting rather than waging war. And our metaphorical angle of attack is diplomacy. You and I always were the best at it of our brothers; if anyone has a chance of convincing the Valar to return the Silmarils it’s us.”

“How exactly are we making diplomatic overtures with the Valar from another continent?”

“Letters should be able to get through. The Valar are creating an island for the Men that’s close to Valinor but still in Middle Earth. Elves from Valinor can visit the island, and the Men can travel here.”

“We tried letters before, three times now, and it didn’t work.”

“It didn’t work on Sindarin child-monarchs, the Valar are wiser and can understand more lines of argument.”

“They refused our last request and Fingon is _right here telling us so_.”

“Eonwe refused, because he considers it beyond his authority. The Valar themselves have said neither yay or nay.”

“You think they’ll decree us worthy of the Silmarils, when they condemned us for ever trying to leave their precious paradise?”

“I think if we’re on another continent they won’t sentence us to execution, an the rest of the details can be worked out without an audience.”

“I’m not here to spy on you,” Fingon said.

“No, you’re here to see if you’re still impulsive enough to kiss my brother if he looks at you sweetly.”

“That’s not it either!”

“I don’t care what you two get up to at this point, but Maedhros and I really do need to come up with a detailed plan, and we can’t tell you anything as long as half the continent is willing to shoot us on sight. So leave the tent so I can bring out the ledgers.”

“You still haven’t answered the message from Lord Eonwe calling for your surrender.”

“And we won’t have an answer that satisfies both your sensibilities and Maedhros’s paranoia for several hours. Go tend to your horse or something.”

Maedhros said, “If we discuss this for hours, he’ll won’t have time to return by nightfall, and we don’t have any spare tents.”

“I’m sure the two of you have shared a bed often enough, you can do so for one night.”

“I can sleep under the stars well enough,” Fingon said coldly.

“Like I said, I don’t care what you two do, as long as you leave now and let me speak with my brother in private.”

“Fine.”

Once Fingon was well away, Maedhros breathed deeply and practically collapsed onto a stool. He looked up at Maglor, “Do you really have a plan that could work?”

“I do. It was a mistake to ask for the Silmarils in the first letter to Eonwe, it shows our hand and makes us look greedy. The first letter to the Valar will be an acknowledgement that their prophecies of death in the outer lands were right, it will sound like respecting their wisdom…”

**Author's Note:**

> The section in italics ("Then Maglor desired indeed to submit... less evil shall we do in the breaking") is a direct quote from "Chapter 24: Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath" in The Silmarillion by JRR Tolkien. All other writing is my own, though the characters belong to Tolkien.


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